


but flies an eagle's flight, bold and forth on

by blackkat



Series: hawks 'verse [18]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Hair Braiding, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25814686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Kix wakes up the morning after their wedding with energy practically vibrating beneath his skin, strung tight through his nerves. It’s not the bad sort of anxiety he’s used to from too many exams, but—sweeter. Full of a breathless sort of glee, and he rolls over, gets his hands on dark skin and presses himself up against Agen's back, burying his nose in long, glossy black hair.
Relationships: CT-6116 | Kix/Agen Kolar
Series: hawks 'verse [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825195
Comments: 34
Kudos: 535





	but flies an eagle's flight, bold and forth on

Kix wakes up the morning after their wedding with energy practically vibrating beneath his skin, strung tight through his nerves. It’s not the bad sort of anxiety he’s used to from too many exams, but—sweeter. Full of a breathless sort of glee, and he rolls over, gets his hands on dark skin and presses himself up against Agen's back, burying his nose in long, glossy black hair.

From under him, there's a murmur, a sound that’s half protest and half appreciation, and Kix wants to laugh. He kisses Agen's shoulder blades through his curtain of tangled hair, presses his thumbs into the curves of his hipbones, drags his mouth up the line of Agen's beautiful spine and then simply wraps himself around his husband, heart beating triple-time in his chest.

“Mm,” Agen manages, stirring faintly. “Morning?”

“Technically,” Kix says, grinning, helpless to stop it.

One black eye slides open, and Agen gives him the disgruntled look of a spoiled cat shoved off its perch. “ _Technically_?”

Kix laughs, burying it in Agen's hair, pressing it against his muscled back. He’d left a mark last night, right on the curve of Agen's shoulder, and it’s fascinating this morning, a darkening bruise just like a thousand Kix has left before, but—

But this time it’s not a sex friend he’s marking up. It’s not even his boyfriend. It’s his _husband_.

Kix's heart is in his throat, beating desperately, and he wraps his arms around Agen more tightly, kisses the mark. Thinks of everything he might have missed, if Agen hadn’t come down the stairs with stairs with those roses, and—

Agen's hands settle over Kix's where they're wrapped around him, squeeze gently. “I love you,” Agen says, and Kix feels it like a jolt behind his ribs, even if it isn't the first time Agen has said it in the last twenty-four hours. “But I’ll love you far more in six hours.”

Kix laughs, unable to help it, and leans up, pressing a kiss to Agen's cheek. “All right, all right, I’ll let you sleep,” he says. “It’s not _that_ early.”

Agen makes an incredulous, grumpy sound. “It’s not even _four_ ,” he complains, and Kix presses his nose into the curve of Agen's throat, breathing him in for a long moment, and then strokes a hand down his side.

“Sure I can't convince you to get up?” he asks, low, intent, and fits his hands over Agen's hips.

Agen's eye slits open again, and he gives Kix a dark look. “In four hours I’ll ride you until your eyes cross,” he says bluntly. “Not now. _Sleep_.”

Helpless laughter shakes through Kix's chest, and he’s just so _happy_. It’s a hard thing to even fit into words, and it burns in his chest, as bright as a flare. “Fine, but I’m taking you up on that offer,” he says, and settles back down on the other side of the bed. Agen makes a low, huffy sound of thanks, then rolls over, tucking himself into Kix's side. Kix wraps his arms around him, stroking his hair, and can't help but watch as Agen drifts back to sleep, breaths evening out, body relaxing against him.

It’s—good. It’s _so_ good. Kix doesn’t think he’ll ever stop smiling, he’s so happy.

That restless energy is still curled under his skin, though, and Kix is a little sticky, a little crusty, a little high with everything that’s happened. Finally, eventually, he extricates himself from Agen's grip and slides out of bed, not sure what he wants to do but knowing he’ll just wake Agen again if he stays.

They managed to put away their wedding feast of takeout boxes, so Kix showers and then wanders around the kitchen for a few minutes without anything to do, starting the coffee maker and then stealing a cup before the pot is full. When he checks on Agen again, Agen hasn’t even moved, and Kix just stands in the doorway of the bedroom for a long moment, watching him. There are roses on every surface, dozens of other flowers that Kix can't name set up in bowls and vases and one of Numa’s pails, and the air is sweet with the smell of them, soft with the warmth of a kind spring night before the frost sets in. Agen is beautiful, curled on the bed with his long hair tangled around him, long limbs drawn in, expression peaceful.

Kix can't breathe, he loves him so much. It’s overwhelming, almost terrifying. Forty-eight hours ago he would have said he liked Agen, loved him as a friend, would be happy to see him find happiness eventually, but—

One mention of Agen maybe falling in with Keeli, who’s charming and roguish and _interesting_ no matter how much of a mess his life can be, and Kix was _terrified_. He’s not like Keeli, not adventurous, not wild, not _sharp_ in the same way, and he’d imagined Agen with Keeli, Agen _falling_ for Keeli, and wanted to cry.

But Agen was in love with him the whole time. But Agen loved _him_.

Kix sits down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Agen, and strokes his hair back from his face, brushes a thumb over the traditional Iridonian tattoos that follow his cheekbones.

When they’d ended up on the same hike together, heading up one of the ridges in the preserve to watch a meteor shower, Kix had been captivated from the first moment. Agen was lovely, brusque, with a sharp wit and a quick, furtive smile whenever Kix managed to say something funny. When Kix had seen him afterwards, his ride having fallen through, it had been the simplest thing in the world to offer to drop him off.

Agen had invited him up to spend the night, and Kix just…never really left.

Leaning in, he pulls one of Boil’s lavender roses from the vase on the nightstand, twisting it through his fingers for a moment. Then, gently, he gathers Agen's hair up, all the strands he can reach, and twists them into a sloppy braid, just a few plaits long. Carefully, he slips the rose through, and then sits back, admiring the way the pale purple looks against Agen's hair, the way the green leaves tangle with the black strands. It’s—lovely.

There's a lot about Agen that’s lovely.

For a long, long moment, Kix stares down at Agen, at the rose. Then, deliberately, he slides off the bed, slips out of the room and retrieves his laptop, the itch under his skin finally finding an outlet in a rush of determination.

He still feels guilty, about dismissing the idea of bringing Agen flowers. He’d never seen them, had thought Agen would react to them the same way he rolls his eyes at Valentine’s Day displays and cheesy romcoms. But he’d _hurt_ Agen with the way he’d reacted, and he’s going to be feeling guilty about that for a long time. The masses of flowers he had dragged to the courthouse, to the exasperation of the judge, were a good start in making up for that moment, but—

Not enough.

Refilling his coffee and finding his headphones, Kix retreats to the quiet of the balcony, curling up on one of the padded benches beneath Agen's carefully-pruned fruit trees. It’s the work of a moment to find the videos he needs, and Kix pulls up the first one, settling in.

“You want to braid my hair,” Agen says, baffled, as he eyes Kix over his morning coffee.

“Yes,” Kix says, and tries not to sound too hopeful. He spent _hours_ doing research, though. He has _notes_. He even has _diagrams_.

“Into flowers,” Agen adds, like this is the most unbelievable part of the whole thing.

“We have a lot of them?” Kix offers, and when Agen just raises a brow at him, he shrugs, swallows. “I just…you like flowers. I…I want to do something nice for you. Something that’s ridiculous, and silly, and will make you happy.”

Slowly, deliberately, Agen puts his mug down, and looks at Kix across the table. “Kix,” he says, and that’s his grave tone, serious and steady. Kix closes his mouth on his next words, and Agen holds his eyes and says, “You already did the thing that would make me the happiest.”

Married him. Because Agen has been in _love_ with him. For _years_.

Kix has no idea how to answer that kind of quiet devotion.

“I just…love you,” he says, and the words want to tangle in his throat, want to lodge there, but he won't let them. He _can't_. The first time he managed them was last night, breathed into Agen's ear while they were tangled together in bed. They’re _true_ , and maybe they’ve been true for longer than Kix would care to admit, but saying them is still hard.

It will get easier. Kix will tell Agen every day, and that will help.

The curl of Agen's mouth is a warm thing, intimate. He leaves his chair, circling the table, and pulls himself up onto the edge of it in front of Kix. When Kix looks up at him, gripping his thighs, Agen leans down, cups Kix's face between his hands, and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Kix,” he says solemnly. “I would be honored if you would braid my hair.”

“Oh, thank god,” Kix mutters, and slumps forward, burying his face in Agen's stomach. “I spent _hours_ looking it up.”

Agen's snort is all quiet amusement, and he brushes his fingertips over the lightning bolts shaved into Kix's hair. “Now?” he asks. “I have class in three hours. Does that give you enough time?”

“Yeah, more than.” Kix turns his head, casting a smile up at Agen, and says, “You’re going to give your students heart attacks.”

“I believe such things are good for them,” Agen says gravely, though Kix can see the flicker of wicked humor in his eyes. “Where should I sit for this operation?”

“In a chair, for starters.” Kix tightens his grip on Agen's thighs to give him a warning, then pulls Agen right off the edge of the table and into his lap. There’s a bright sound of amusement, and Agen kisses him soundly, deeply, then slides off, taking the chair next to Kix and tossing his waist-length hair over the back of it.

“I’ll be right back,” Kix says, and gives him one more quick kiss, then goes to find his hairbrush and elastics. On his way back with them, he snags the vase of purple roses, carrying it with him to the kitchen.

Agen eyes it as he sets it down on the table, then raises a pointed brow. “I was under the impression that flower braids simply looked like flowers,” he says.

“I'm a rebel,” Kix says, a little dry, and gathers Agen's hair between his hands, running the brush through it gently. “And. You like the purple ones, right?”

Agen tips his head, watching Kix brush his hair out with a small smile. “Kix. You gave them to me. I’ve never loved a flower more.”

Kix's breath tangles in his throat, and he leans forward, wrapping his arms around Agen's shoulders and pressing his face into his hair. Hugs him, as tight as he dares, and tries to find words but can't.

Agen covers his hands, squeezing tightly, and then says, “If I'm allowed a choice, I would prefer several small flowers and a longer braid.”

“I can do that,” Kix says, rough. He kisses Agen's shoulder, then draws back, and touches a spot off-center, above and behind his ear. “How about two here? One big rose, and one slightly smaller, and then the rest of your hair free except for a loose braid?” He can put some of the real roses there, and maybe some of the baby’s breath Boil gave him.

He probably owes Boil and Numa both _ten_ kittens at this point, honestly.

“That sounds beautiful,” Agen says, and Kix takes a breath and starts gathering strands between his fingers.

“You know, if you let me do this once, I'm going to demand freedom to do it every morning for the rest of our lives,” he warns jokingly, because his heart is in his throat and if he doesn’t joke he’s going to hug Agen again and simply not let go, ever. Given that he’s just about to start applying for residencies, that would probably create problems.

There's a long moment of silence, and then a breath. Agen doesn’t move, but he says quietly, with a trace of something raw in his voice, “I look forward to it.”

Kix rests his forehead against Agen's shoulder, just for a moment as he tries to remember how to breathe. Curls his fingers into glossy black hair, so soft against his skin, and can't find any words at all.

When he starts braiding, though, he’s already planning what he’ll do tomorrow. It’s a promise, and he isn't about to break it.


End file.
